


Relictus

by haunt_the_stars



Series: Coping [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Abandonment, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce is a dick, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Depression, Dick Has Abandonment Issues, Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Melodramatic, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Time Skips, eventually, he's trying his best he just messes up a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12232521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haunt_the_stars/pseuds/haunt_the_stars
Summary: relictus. latin. that which remains, having been abandoned. All the times someone left Dick alone, and one time someone came back.





	1. mom & dad

**Author's Note:**

> working on crossposting all my stuff from ffnet to here. Trigger Warning **throughout the whole story** for depression, self-harm, suicidal ideation, suicide, general angst.

Dick always wanted siblings. Preferably one older to play games with him and protect him from bad dreams, and one younger to snuggle with and give advice to. His parents would always giggle, and tell him their tiny trailer was too small for another baby, and besides, why would they ever want to take any attention away from their little robin?

That usually got Dick laughing and agreeing with them. He did like attention. That was a circus brat thing, but his mother gently swatted his head when he said so. The spotlight was nicer when it was shared, she said. Dick agreed with that too.

He can't resist wishing he was sharing the spotlight with them tonight.

He doesn't want to die - not exactly, or at least he doesn't think so. His father told him that people want to die when their brain is sick. His brain isn't sick. It's more...more his heart. His heart is sick. And if he had any siblings with him to love and hold and share the pain, he feels like it wouldn't be so sick. If he died with his parents, he wouldn't even have a heart to be sick.

He wouldn't be so unbearably alone.

And that's what's bugging him. It feels selfish. His parents- his parents died. They don't get to live and grow old. They were murdered. Robbed of a whole life. But Dick is sad for himself. He wants to be sad for them instead, but the loneliness hurts so much worse than anything he's ever felt, worse even than when he broke his leg that time, or when he fell off an elephant. He's so  _cold_  - the blanket a police officer threw across his shoulders does nothing to help - and all he wants is someone to hold onto. Even a hand. He just wants to be held.

It hits him then, that his parents will never cuddle him again, never hold his hands on the trapeze, his father will never put him up on his shoulders and his mother will never rock him in her lap. He's alone. He's all alone. They left him alone and he's so  _angry_ , and  _hurt_ , and oh  _gosh_ , how will he live on like this? What will happen to him? He knows he can't stay with Haly, the grownups were talking to each other about it. They're going to take him away from his circus, his home, from his family and the trapeze and Zitka the elephant and from everything he's ever known.

And all he has is a little suitcase to take with him.

He can't picture a future. He hears the adults saying something about no room at the orphanage. Somehow, he's always had the vague idea that orphanages were something made-up in books and movies. Wrought-iron and stone brick places with creepy music and scary old caretakers. But they must be real...and he's not going to one. He's going somewhere they lowered their voices to talk about. He tries to listen, but he's aware of some noise drowning them out. Gasps. Sobs. He's crying.

He can't  _stop_.

And maybe his brain is sick, because he wants to be with his parents. He's not sure if heaven is real, but right now he needs it to be, needs to know that he could see them again someday. It's comforting, but not enough. He wants to be with them  _now_. He doesn't want to live without them. He doesn't want to be an orphan. His life suddenly seems so  _long_  - he's only eight years old and the many years he probably has left is such a long time to spend lonely, homeless, family-less.

Maybe someone will adopt him. A new family...even if he could grow to love a new family the way he loves the people at his circus, he doesn't think he wants to. They could die...everyone could die, could leave him in a split second.

He does not want to be left alone ever again.


	2. kid flash

"Dick?"

Dick is confused. Baffled. His best friend has just informed him he's quitting being a superhero and moving across the country and he does not understand. That can't be right. "I...what?"

"Did I speed-talk? Sorry, man, I get carried away. Where did I lose y-"

"No, I...I heard everything." Dick's voice sounds unnaturally quiet to his ears. "I just...I don't understand."

Wally's face falls, like Dick's just told him he forgot to bring the food or something, and he sighs. "I figured you wouldn't...take this well."

Dick tilts his head at the boy-  _man?_  in front of him who suddenly looks like a stranger. His feet swing back and forth off the mountain's kitchen counter. "You can do part-time while you're in school, you know." Yes, that would be the answer. Wally just forgot, in all his college preparations, that the League has no requirements for hours. A silly mistake.

"Dick, I don't want to." Wally's expression is much too serious for him. It looks out of place. "I told you, I want to live a normal life. Artemis and I both do. I'm not coming back after college."

Not coming back. Leaving and not coming back. Dick is silent for at least a minute, staring at his feet as he processes. This isn't- this really,  _reallycan'tbehappening_.

"You don't want to be with us anymore," is his softly-spoken conclusion. "With...with me."

He tries to hide it, but Dick sees Wally's eyes roll up in exasperation like he's calming down a toddler. "It's got nothing to do with you."

"Why'd I get a special meeting then?" The shake in his voice is poorly veiled by bitterness.

"Because I knew you'd be upset and I wanted you to hear it from me, not through anyone else."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dick knows exactly what it's supposed to mean, and Wally's on the same page, judging by his deliberate glance at Dick's wrists.

Wally sighs. "I didn't want you to have a meltdown over it." He at least has the decency to look ashamed of saying it.

"I'm sorry my meltdowns are such an inconvenience to you," Dick bites back, trying to skew his emotions towards anger so that Wally won't notice he's sort of panicking.

"Dick, please." Wally runs a hand through his hair. "Please don't be like this."

"Like  _what_?"

"Twisting my words. That's not fair. You're not giving me a chance here and you're only thinking about yourself."

Dick slips off the counter and pulls himself into a handstand. He doesn't want to - can't, really - be right-side-up right now. "Someone's gotta."

"You're not doing good, are you?" Wally's voice softens, and Dick's arms start to wobble.

"You wouldn't know." Although, he can't imagine it's difficult to figure out. Unless, of course, someone was  _completely ignoring him and blowing him off constantly and now ditching him to move across the country-_ "I guess you've been practicing what it'll be like when you leave?"

_"Dick."_  Wally has his gentle demeanor on and Dick knows he messed up. He can't get Wally mad. No matter how much vitriol he spits at him - stuff he knows is awful, knows is toxic, knows makes him a terrible, terrible friend - Wally always just gets  _scared_  and worried and pitying. And then Dick cries, and it's all so  _exhausting_  and he doesn't want to do it today. "I'd never, ever not be there for you, okay? I hope you know that. No matter what. This doesn't change that. If you need my help I'll be there."

Dick tries to get his feet back on the floor before he falls to the ground trembling, but he still sort of crumples before steadying himself and standing upright. He thinks the tears might start if he looks at Wally, so he stays turned around, head down, and nods slightly.

"What's scaring you?" He feels a hand on his arm, lightly gripping at first, and then rubbing up and down. "You know I'll visit, right?"

"No, you won't," he mumbles.

"Of course I will."

"You'll quit the team and I'll never fucking see or hear from you again." He sort of has the urge to get his hands on something sharp. The thought of truly losing Wally is terrifying in a way he's never experienced.

Or maybe he has.

Eight years ago. The first time he heard that screaming voice telling him to  _diediediedie_.

The first time he was left alone.

"Why would you think that?" Wally takes his shoulder and twists him around so they're face-to-face, hand lingering there for a few seconds. "We already live far apart. It'll hardly be any different."

"For Wally West, yeah." Dick finds himself glaring a little. "But I don't really see Wally West anymore, I only get to see Kid Flash. Kid Flash isn't gonna be here anymore."

"Huh?" Wally - sweet, caring, funny, amazing Wally who Dick loves more than anything - looks for all the world like he hasn't noticed any change in their friendship and Dick chokes on a sob. He's been more attached to Wally than Wally is to him at least since the team started -  _and how could he not be_ , he thinks bitterly, Wally was the only person besides Bruce and Alfred who knew about both his lives. But it feels like proof now, knowing that while he's been grieving and struggling over losing Wally out of costume, the latter hasn't noticed a thing. They used to never miss a week with their sleepovers or at the very least a movie night or breakfast together if they couldn't manage more time. It hurts like a bitch to think that maybe Wally doesn't remember that, doesn't treasure those memories the way Dick does.

He supposes dates with Artemis are probably more fun.

"Forget it." His composure is slipping and he leans on the counter behind him, trying to ground himself. This is happening. He can't stop it. He always knew it would happen eventually, because Wally is smart and charming and has so much going for him, and it's not like Dick really thought he'd be able to cling to him forever without him getting annoyed.

But he's not ready. Now that it's really happening, he just wants more time. He wants  _Wally_  to want more time. More time as DickandWally instead of ArtemisandWally  _and oh yeah, Dick._  
  
"We've been busy."

"You've been busy. I've been-"  _Lonely. Feeling bad again. You didn't_ notice _._  "-the same."

"I..." Wally must see the devastation in his eyes, because he stops. "I'm sorry, Dick. I guess I just..."

"Forgot me." It comes out as a whimper, not the cold remark he meant it to be, and he knows he has to give this up. Let Wally go.

Wally's certainly already let him go.

"Dick-"

"It's okay." He finally lets the tears spill, trying to smile through them. His voice is so tight it hurts his chest. "It's okay, you can go. Y-you have a girlfriend, and a scholarship, and I'm just holding you back. I understand. You're allowed to forget me." He hiccups, and Wally's face falls to a pitying frown.

"Dick, I could never forget you." He's opening his arms, but if Dick hugs him he'll never be able to stop. He turns around instead.

"You should." His fingernails dig into his palms. "I'm...n-not your burden. And I'll...I'll be fine."

"Don't lie."

"I'm not lying."

He is. He totally is. He doesn't know how he'll get through this, what he'll do when he's in a bad place, how the hell he'll survive if Wally really does cut him off. "It just really fucks me up getting left alone but I always end up that way so it's fine."

"Dick, I'll...I'll call all the time. Every day, if you want. I'm not leaving you alone, buddy, you know I'd never do that." Dick wants to believe it, really, really wants to. But the hole ripping through his chest says otherwise. His heart just screams. His brain says  _nope, he hates you, he's never ever coming back, he's one of the only things you have and now he's leaving you all by your fucking self just like before, just like always,_ this is always how it's going to be...

"You literally are but I just said it's fine, okay?"

Wally sighs, seeming at a loss, before he steps forward and wraps his arms around Dick, leaning his chin on the top of his head. "I love you. I'm not abandoning you. Please, please believe me. I love you so much."

He's only ever said that a handful of times, when one of them was on their deathbed or when they were giggly and delirious after long missions. Never this clearly, this sincerely. It makes Dick cry, hard, and then he gives in to the hurt and turns around to bury his face in Wally's welcoming chest, and cries some more. And when he finally stops, out of breath and energy and tears, Wally leans close to his ear. "Do you want me to stay?"

Dick can't tell whether he's referring to right now, or the whole situation. He knows he wants to say  _yes yes god yes please stay please dontleavedontleaveme._  
  
But he can't. Because Wally needs to be happy, out in California with his girlfriend and his chemistry classes and his happy, happy life and far away from his broken handful of a best friend, not worrying about saving dozens of lives each day and then coming home just to save Dick's for the hundredth time.

"No," he manages, and it's the hardest word he's ever pushed past his lips. "Can...c-can you let me be alone for a while?"

Get used to it, Grayson.

"You sure?" There's an unspoken conversation between their eyes -  _I'm scared for you - I won't do anything - Promise? - I promise -_  and Dick nods.

"Okay. I'll call later, okay? And...this means a lot to me, Dick. Your blessing. Thank you." Wally's lips touch Dick's forehead for a moment, and then he's gone - walking, not running. Kid Flash is over and Wally West is halfway out the door, and Robin is angry, and Dick is alone.

He's alone, and he can't breathe, and there's a knife on the counter, and Bruce stopped rolling up his sleeves months ago.

He's alone, and if a robin breaks a promise on the kitchen floor with no one around to see him, it's not really broken. And neither is he.


	3. bruce wayne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where that "melodramatic" tag comes in and also some of the warnings so. yeah. mind that. otherwise, enjoy.

When he was eight, the fear was overwhelming and debilitating and had him sobbing inconsolably every time Bruce so much as went to work. Dr. Thompkins called it separation anxiety as if Dick couldn't understand her, but it wasn't being apart Dick was afraid of, it was that Bruce would never come back. "Ward" didn't make sense to him. There was no  _reason_  for Bruce to come back.

Robin was much less afraid. Batman needed Robin. There was a reason for Batman to come back to Robin, so Dick felt a little better too. Sometimes he could forget he was being leased for ten years and feel like he was home instead. By thirteen, he was only having those kinds of meltdowns a few times a year, when they would fight and Bruce would ground him and he would wait that night -  _and wait, and wait, and wait_  - for the footsteps assuring that his guardian ( _father?_ ) came back, that he wasn't alone again.

By sixteen, the fights are constant, and his mental health is in ruins, and he can never tell if the two are related but they add up  _bad_. And of course, he can't just go running headlong into Wally's arms when Bruce's are crossed towards him because Wally already left and took a little chip off Dick's heart to California, their time limited to a daily Skype that Dick counts down to every night. The overwhelming and exhausting feeling of having no one in his corner swallows him. His parents are dead, his best friend is gone, most of his other friends don't even know his real name, and his only parental figure switches between treating him like a child and neglecting him until it hurts.

He hates the restrictions, the distrust, the complete lack of faith in his abilities, but sometimes he can't help but do something stupid and dangerous to get just one flash of a concerned expression, one moment of a hand on his shoulder.

Maybe he deserves to be treated like a child if he's going to act like one. If he's going to wish for when he  _was_ a child, when everything wasn't so  _complicated._

On the day it happens, his nerves are shot. It's a Sunday, and he's still recovering from a rough Young Justice mission on Friday, and Batman takes him along to an investigation where they argue all afternoon, and he's sweaty and tired and strung out and finally, finally they're home and all he wants to do is curl up in his bed and call Wally. Never mind the entire paper he has to write tonight, and patrol...

He pauses in peeling off his mask when Batman speaks, having literally forgotten about it while he showered and changed. It bothers him. It shouldn't be that-  _easy_ , to live with a mask on.

Batman's voice is sharp and clipped behind him. "No patrol tonight."

"Hm?" He can't pretend he wasn't expecting that, but at least he can write his paper now.

"You performed poorly today and I expect you to spend the extra time reflecting on your mistakes."

"...Bruce." Dick gives an empty chuckle as he turns around to face the Bat. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Batman grunts. "You ran off by yourself. You could have been attacked."

"Place was empty." He crosses his arms now, fuse starting to burn short. "I hacked the cameras."

"You should have let me sweep first."

"You should have trusted me."

"You're impulsive and reckless and it could get you hurt or killed."

_Spoken like a true army general._ Dick scoffs. "That's not what you're concern _e_ d about."

Batman growls, like the  _not-human_  he is, and maybe if Dick wasn't so exhausted, he wouldn't roll his eyes at it. "You can't trick me into thinking you do this out of love, Bruce."

Bruce flinches, and he can't tell if it's because he's dead wrong or dead right. He wants to be wrong. Badly. But all he can do is bite his lip, waiting for the response that will likely determine whether he loses his shit tonight or not.

"Names."

Definitely losing all his shit and then some.

"We're in the cave?!" He reaches up to rip off the last bit of mask clinging to his face and crumples it in his grip. "I'm talking to you. I'm not talking to a mask. Take the damn thing off."

"Robin-"

"Dick. My name's Dick." He drops his arms to his sides and only notices then that they're shaking with either rage or fear. He can't for the life of him figure out which. "I'm not your fucking toy soldier, Bruce."  _Where the hell is Alfred when you need him?_  
  
"You're my responsibility."

"God, I'm so glad you care!" Dick grits his teeth. "Since Batman's responsibility is still in one piece, how about your frickin' son?"

Bruce sighs and has the  _actual nerve_  to turn away from him, cape sweeping the floor in his wake.

"I'M NOT DONE YET, JACKASS." He's hurting his throat screaming but everything he's been feeling since Wally left, since years ago, since his parents died, is coming up like vomit. It seems they've finally reached the point where his self-esteem is too low to be lowered any further, so now he's just anger and pain and a few pounds of skin and bones. "Turn the hell around and  _listen to me!_  You- you can't just change your mind! You  _can't!_  You signed the stupid paper that said you have to take care of me and- a-and  _you have to!"  
_  
"Was I not just trying to take care of you?" Bruce hisses, throwing a glance back at Dick. Oh  _god_ , he wants Bruce to be angry. Sad. Guilty. Anything, instead of the cold disinterest he's giving him.

"NOT! ROBIN!" He heaves out a deep breath, scrubbing at his eyes before they can weaken his argument. "Me." The sniffles, however, certainly aren't helping. "You...y-you  _knew_  I relapsed. You just don't  _care_."

Bruce is silent, jaw tight, and Dick is shaking. He could have just ruined everything. Bruce is going to fire back and he...he just doesn't have the stomach or the patience for it, not when he's the one who's sixteen, who's a teenager and broken and needs help-

Bruce turns fully around. Dick wants to run away, get out of here and away from Batman's thin white lenses and  _maybealsokillhimself_.

"Do you want to be Robin or not?"

"What?" Dick blinks, voice wavering. "What-  _yes,_ I-"

"Then you listen to me. You fight for me. And you put justice over yourself."

"And over your family?" Dick swallows. "Over your son?" He's trying  _so hard_ not to cry and it makes his whole body ache. "Y'know, I...I-I really tried, Bruce, because you're so...so  _hurt_  inside, and I thought I could understand you. I thought...that I could help." He blinks tears out of his eyes, and they drip down his face. "I thought you cared. Maybe you did, back...when things were good. But now you don't. You only care about your damn crusade."

If Bruce wasn't wearing the cowl right now, Dick thinks he would apologize. Assure him he does care. Promise to help him stop cutting again.

But it's not Bruce, it's Batman, and Batman gives a low snarl, then retaliates. "I'm not your father, Dick."

Everything hurts.

He needs to get out of here,  _rightnow_ , and scream and cry and slice his heart out of his chest so it will stop hurting. But at the end of the day, Dick never runs away from a fight.

"You think your parents would be proud?" he rasps, choking back a sob. "You think they died so you could show me that they DIDN'T TEACH YOU A GODDAMN THING?"

Bruce growls, and Dick has to back up to avoid his looming figure coming closer. He should shut up. Right now. But he wants-  _needs_  to see Bruce hurt the way he made Dick hurt. It's an ugly, primal desire and he can't leave without fulfilling it. "I'm sure when you see them again they'll be happy you spent all your time beating people up in their name instead of raising their grandson!"

"They are  _not_ your grandparents."

"They would  _hate_ you."

"GET OUT!"

Dick freezes, teeth and fists clenched, eyes teary, body trembling. Regret is coming at him like a train. He shouldn't have said it. Any of it. He should have shut up when he had the chance, he's awful, he's an awful, awful son and person and now-

_get out?_  
  
The words hit him. Get out.

"What?" His voice is tiny.

"Get. Out. Get the hell out of here, and don't ever come back." Every word is biting, perfectly articulated. Knives in his chest.

"I...please take the cowl off," Dick begs. He hiccups and more tears spring out like from a broken faucet. "I'm sorry, I wanna talk to Bruce, not Batman, just  _please_ -"

With one hand, Bruce rips the cowl off his face, which is red with rage. His eyes pop out, but they're cold, with a low, simmering fury, no warmth or remorse to be found anywhere in them. "There you go. Now get the hell out. And don't come back."

And he means it.  _Bruce_  means it.

Dick cries out and runs upstairs, desperately trying to get away from Bruce before he melts into heartache. In his room, he tries to catch his breath on the floor and winds up hyperventilating and convulsing, sobs wrenched out of his body more loudly than he remembers ever crying since he was little. He's going to die here. Right here on the shiny hardwood floor, sheer emotional pain taking down his organs. He can't even begin to process what just happened, not without digging his nails into his arms and screaming into his bleeding lip.

Alfred arrives quickly, fretting until Dick manages to gasp out the important parts of the story. He stays, thank god, while Dick cries himself raw and splutters about promises and robin's nests, one hand steady on his back.

"I have to g-go," Dick whispers once he can breathe, standing up much too fast for his shaking body. "Have to...pack..."

"What on earth do you mean?" A sharp edge to Alfred's tone indicates that he already knows the answer.

"He told me to go, Alfred," he whines.

"This is your home," Alfred says firmly, standing up.

"I can't- not anymore." A bit frantically, he finds his school backpack and clutches it in one hand while he rifles through his drawers. Two sweatshirts, three t-shirts, a pair of jeans...

"Oh, Master Dick…"

"I need to leave." The tears are starting all over again. His cheeks feel stiff and sticky. "I-I just need to go, okay? I'll- I'll go to the mountain." He might go to the mountain.

"I will speak to Master Bruce."

Dick grabs the picture of his parents on his nightstand to put in his bag, the action suddenly feeling very familiar. "What're you gonna do? Make him apologize?" His precious stuffed elephant is the last thing to make it in before he zips it up. "All three of us know he doesn't want me here." The hurt catches him badly, and his last word is a wail.

"My dear child..." Alfred takes him by the shoulders, face full of grief. Dick's lip quivers, and Alfred hesitates. "Go for tonight. But we will make this right."

Dick nods, blinking quickly. He's not coming back. They both know it. Alfred just doesn't know where he's going.

"Please be safe."

"I will." He can't meet Alfred's eyes when he's lying. He might be safe, might go to the mountain and sleep it off and try to navigate his crumbling world in the morning. But with every passing moment of agony, that chance gets slimmer. "I'm sorry."

"It is not your apology to make." Alfred wraps his slim arms around him and Dick hugs back, unable to ignore the fact that this is probably the last time he'll ever be held by his family, by the people who held him when he was alone and scared. Pulling back is excruciating.

If he says another word, he's going to sob himself to pieces, so he nods again instead, slings his bag over his shoulder, takes one last shuddering breath, and, for the second time in his life, turns away from everything he knows.

He jumps out his window and heads for the Gotham bridge, thinking if he's going to be alone, he might as well be alone at the bottom of the ocean.


	4. jason todd

Somehow he survived that hour, Wally his saving grace as always. Somehow he survived that night with Clark telling him Kryptonian bedtime stories until he fell asleep, Nightwing and Flamebird keeping his dreams from strangling him. Somehow he survived the next few days with Wally keeping twenty-four hour watch like he was a time bomb. And when Alfred called, hopelessly dancing around the fact that Bruce wasn't going to work it out with him - too stubborn or too scared or too  _mean -_ he revealed his identity to the team and they all held him while he cried, now positive this break was permanent.

Clark brought over some more of Dick's things the next day. It seemed like the whole damn league had heard about the Dynamic Duo's family drama. Martian Manhunter began assigning the team's missions, giving a pitying face to Nightwing when he did. Oliver and Dinah helped him get settled in an apartment, albeit after berating him for choosing the most dangerous city on the east coast (he had to, Bruce hated Bludhaven). Barry, Clark, and Alfred were apparently giving Batman hell in every way possible, short of violence. All three of them, along with Artemis and Wally, came to his high school graduation and cheered almost loud enough to drown out the silence of Bruce's absence.

They all took care of him, and he appreciated it. He did. They just weren't the ones he  _wanted_  to take care of him. Still, he made it out the other end, fifteen pounds lighter and a little more scarred, with a new suit and a new name and trust issues. He didn't see Batman for months.

And then the news said Bruce Wayne had a new kid, just in time for summer. Jason Todd was about fourteen years old, dark hair, light eyes, rumored to have grown up on the streets. Dick broke his knuckles punching the wall. He'd never hated someone he'd never met before then. And it wasn't even until six weeks later that he saw footage of Batman and his new toy soldier, dressed up in  _Dick's_ costume with  _Dick's_ name and  _Dick's_ birdarangs and  _Dick's_ father _\- notanymore._

He spied on them once, and liked to think Bruce didn't know, but he probably did. It didn't matter; Dick was watching Jason. His hatred only lasted about ten minutes. Jason was just a kid, a sad, lost kid like he had been ( _still was_ ), and it was  _Bruce_  putting him on this fucked-up path,  _Bruce_ who gave away Dick's identity like a hand-me-down,  _Bruce_ who kicked him to the curb and replaced him. Jason didn't deserve his bitterness. In fact, he deserved his help, help from someone who understood what it was like to deal with the Bat. So Dick met him on a rooftop one night, Jason's first solo patrol, and nearly spooked the kid off the edge before sitting down with his palms spread empty.

"Nightwing," Jason said that night, little confidence but a lot of strength shining through his slightly accented voice. Gotham. Low Gotham. Bruce had trained Dick out of his European hodge-podge accent, and Jason seemed well on his way to an unidentifiable voice, too.

"Daddy told you about your big brother, then?"

He still harbored more rancor than he knew what to do with, still took it out on Jason for longer than he cares to admit.

"From his perspective. Not sure how much that's worth." Dick's always going to remember that response. That's when he knew Jason would never be the perfect Robin, not for Bruce, anyway. He questioned the Bat, and not in a contingency plan way, in a  _you're not always right_ way. It was also when Dick decided he liked the kid, as angry and hurt as he was about him. "You didn't let him give me this suit, did you?"

Dick shook his head.

"Thought so. 'M sorry. I won't give it back, though."

"It's yours." The words rolled off his tongue before he could rethink them. They felt right. But he couldn't quite call him Robin, even though he reminded him so  _much_  of Robin, so much of himself...a little Nightwing. "Little wing."

" _Little wing,"_  Dick whispers desperately to himself from where he's curled on the ground.

He had the little brother he always wanted as a child. He had someone to teach, to train, to understand, to hug on rare occasions.

"I'm so sorry." He's clutching the only picture he has of them together, rocking ever so slightly, and he doesn't know what he's sorry for. He's sorry for everything. Sorry he didn't somehow do  _better._ Sorry he didn't slap some sense into Jay that very first night, tell him to put down the mask and abandon this godawful life right from the start, this life that takes and takes and takes and never  _stops_.

Finally he looks to the headstone before him.

_Jason Peter Todd._

He traces his finger over the letters, over the hyphen that marks just fifteen years, and cries. Again, his world is closing in on him. Someone else has slipped through his fingers. He can only liken the feeling to drowning on a beach, the stretches of time between each crashing wave getting shorter and shorter as his lungs fill and burn. He thought he was  _ready_  for this, after years of living in the masked community, knowing that any of his family and friends could die in a heartbeat. He thought he was ready to face death again, but he's  _not_  and-  _is anyone ever?_ He's lost so much - when he counts emotional losses, he's lost  _everything_  - and it still  _hurts_ so  _much._

"Jason," he murmurs, for the sixth time. "Jason. I'm sorry. I miss you. Why'd you do this, why'd you  _leave…"_ He plays what Bruce told him back in his head for the eleventh time. He knew, right from when he saw the caller ID. Bruce hadn't called him in a year. They'd only ever shared brief words, always about cases or legal documents Dick needed or Jason. He knew something awful happened, but he still wasn't  _ready_. And he definitely wasn't ready to hear the story. "You should have come to me if you were upset. You shouldn't have gone alone. I was here. I was always here, you could've... _stayed."_

His fingers tighten on the photograph and he drops it in fear of ripping it. It's low-quality, taken on his phone camera in his apartment one of the times Jason stayed the night, and Dick has his arms wrapped tightly around him, eyes closed and a grin on his face. One of Jason's hands is shoving Dick's face away from him, but the other is gripping his wrist, keeping his arms in place. Dick remembers that night, remembers that Wally visited and took the picture, right after they all played video games together and Dick hadn't felt so  _happy_ in years. He sat in the middle of his older brother and his younger brother on the two-cushion couch, squished between their bodies and comforted by their pulses like a baby animal.

The memories flood in after that, mostly in short flashes. They're sparring on the edge of the Bludhaven boardwalk, and then they're up in the rafters of Mount Justice making fun of Bruce, they're getting ice cream, Dick is picking Jason up from school on his motorcycle and the girls - and boys - are fawning while Jason blushes. Jason is ecstatic on the phone because  _B officially adopted me, we're legally brothers now, 'wing!_  and Dick doesn't have the heart to tell him they're not.

"You know I thought of you that way anyway, right?"

The tombstone doesn't answer. Dick whimpers. "I didn't tell you I loved you. I wanted to. I was scared. But...you're my brother, Jay, I love you. I love you so much, little wing."

Picture in hand, he kisses the top of the stone, then slowly, shaking, stands up. He used to come here all the time, when it was his backyard. It feels strange now, and especially strange since his parents are here, within the iron gates of the Wayne family cemetery, on Bruce's property, when he's not even welcome anymore.

Although, the security system let him in. Someone allowed him to grieve without a fight. He's grateful for that.

On his way out, he stops before the wide tomb on his right, kneeling.

"I'm sorry I let you down again. I'm so sorry. I-I love you. You would have loved him. I'm sorry." He kisses each side of his parents' stone, then stands to leave. "I just don't know how many more times I can handle this."


	5. batman

" _We'll manage."_

Dick watches the green spaceship ascend until he can't see it anymore, and then a little longer, in case he's mistaken. The cluster of heroes around him feels too crowded, too close. He slowly moves away from them until he can breathe easier, then closes his eyes.

He knows they may not come back. He knows it, and it  _hurts_ him, and he selfishly finds himself angry at his teammates, that they have the  _audacity_ to be sad and afraid for their loved ones when they don't  _understand_ what it feels like to have your heart ripped out and crushed again and again and again-

Dick breathes. Of course they understand, almost all of them do. The ridiculous thoughts leave with the air out his nose.

He doesn't even notice Tim walk up behind him until he speaks, startling him.

"Are you okay?"

Dick unclenches his fists, opens his eyes, relaxes his shoulders. When he turns to Tim, a small smile comes naturally at the concern on his face."Yeah. I'm fine."

Tim doesn't say anything in response, just stares at him, eyes wide. Dick scowls. "What?"

"You're upset."

Tim is a detective. Dick is too, but where he sees dishonesty in someone's eyes, Tim sees dishonesty, the true story, and the person's childhood address. He's not afraid to say as much either.

Tim's the perfect Robin. Dick's as certain of that as he is that he and Jason weren't.

"And?" He turns away from those skilled eyes and looks out at the water instead.

"Why?"

Dick lets out a long breath, then sits cross-legged in the sand. He's suddenly so utterly exhausted, and the fact that he can't tell Tim about eighty percent of what's weighing on his mind is even more tiring. He digs around with his fingers for a shell to fidget with. Tim kneels next to him awkwardly, still  _staring_ until he gets an answer.

"Just kinda...worried about B going. That's all." He's not lying. Just leaving out the part about how completely worn down he is, how he's starting to feel like crying whenever someone so much as cancels plans with him, how incredibly  _not good_ this whole Bruce-going-to-Rimbor-and-maybe-never-coming-back thing is for him right now. Although, a more calculated part of him thinks it  _is_ good, since if he was around Bruce a second longer he'd probably crack and spill everything about Aqualad and the mission. And  _god,_ he wishes he could. He needs advice, he needs help, he  _so_ does not need to be left alone right now, not when it already strikes a nerve in him even without all the things he's trying to shoulder.

"It's more than that." Tim is as flat-voiced as if he were observing a bug in science class and it would make Dick laugh on a better day. Today, he can't muster it.

"You're good, dude. Yeah, it's a little more than that. No worries."

That appeases him for a few seconds, and then he's back on it. "Talk to me about it."

"Ahh…" Dick looks around, trying to see if he can get out of this. Barbara is talking with Cassie. Some of the others are heading back up to the mountain. Dick is stuck. "I just...have some issues, with this kind of thing. You know...people leaving."

Tim nods, shifting his legs out from under him. "Abandonment?"

"Right." He swallows. "It's just a...a dumb thing. I'll get over it."

He doesn't want to talk about this with Tim. Jason always listened to him bitch, but Jason's  _gone_ and maybe if Dick wasn't always bitching he would have come to him before running off alone. Maybe if he's the perfect big brother to Tim and never shows a sliver of weakness, Tim won't  _die_.

"Can I ask you something?" Tim sounds awkward again, and Dick snaps his mind back to his  _living_ brother. He almost wants to say no, but he can't, not when it's Tim. Besides, Dick knows he can find the information he wants, easy. It's a pretty polite gesture that he's asking in the first place.

"Go ahead."

"What did you and B fight about, a couple years back? He never told me."

Dick groans, then scrubs his hand over his face. "What fight? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please? 'Wing, I...if I'm gonna be a part of this...this family, I need to understand."

Dick sighs. He's right. They try,  _desperately_ , to pretend things never fell apart but their relationship is still so damaged. Anyone could see that, let alone someone as perceptive as Tim. Dick and Bruce owe him an explanation at least, and since Bruce is away -  _and he can handle that he can he can he can -_ it's Dick's job.

He looks back to assure that their teammates are clearing out or at least a safe distance away, and tries to explain it with as few details as possible. Unsurprisingly, it's difficult to explain how  _Bruce sorta accidentally fucked my emotional health up because he was scared and you know how he gets when he's scared? And then I lost my shit and told him his parents would hate him and then he lost his shit and sort of kicked me out? And then I think he was afraid to apologize because he thought I wouldn't forgive him? And honestly, I probably wouldn't have? But now we're alright, I guess? I still have ridiculous attachment issues so that has to count for something, right?_

"So...yeah. Ah...it was messed up, really messed up. But. It's better now. Not...not perfect. It's getting better." He sounds a whole lot more like he's trying to convince himself than Tim.

His brother is gaping at him, somewhere between shocked and skeptical. He wants to believe him, Dick can see it, but he doesn't, not quite.

"How... _what?"_ The gears turn visibly behind Tim's eyes. "So he's scared because you're getting older and worried about you getting hurt so he...kicks you out?"

He's not sure if it's a good thing that he rushes to Bruce's defense. "It wasn't- it was complicated. I...he didn't know what to do with me, I was...really difficult, at the time. And he snapped. We both...snapped." Dick swallows. Tim looks crestfallen.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's over now. We can...work together just fine." He looks up at the sky, wonders if Bruce is looking back at Earth. Wonders if he'll  _miss_  him, really miss him the way Dick will.

"How...how did you forgive him after that?"

_I'm still trying._

Someday, he hopes he can truly, completely let go, but that sounds even more difficult than stopping the Light. There's a very fine tightrope between forgiveness and being too damn tired to hurt, and Dick's not sure which side he falls on.

"It was after Jason," he murmurs, heart clenching. "It all just...seemed stupid, then."

"Oh." Tim looks down, picking up small handfuls of sand and letting it dribble to the ground. Dick has always hated the feeling of sand slipping through his fingers.

"Bruce...he told me something, yesterday," Tim says. Dick feels his pulse quicken just a bit at his tone.  _Something about you_ , Tim doesn't say.

"Yeah?"

"He...he asked me to look out for you. Said that...that you can get pretty sad, sometimes. That this might...make you sad." Tim hesitates before meeting his eyes.

Dick opens his mouth then closes it again, chews his lip, and answers. "Was...was that it?"

"That's all he said." Tim raises his palms in surrender. "But, um, the way he said it...is it...like, bad?" Behind the embarrassment at his clumsy words, Dick can see genuine worry.

"Like, bad," he affirms. Tim's face crumples just a bit, and he wishes he'd kept his tongue. "Not...I mean...ah, fuck. Tim, just- just don't worry about it,  _please_."

"Are you sad now?" Tim sounds like a child when he asks the question, and yet it holds more weight than it would phrased differently. Dick pushes his hair back a bit forcefully.

"I have a lot on my plate right now."

"I know." There's a touch of dismay in his tone. "You're keeping something from me."

"I'm not," Dick says automatically, but he sounds blatantly nervous to his own ears. Lying to his friends hurts, but lying to his family  _kills_ him. He swears his brain is sweating. His wrists itch.

Tim shakes his head. "I wish you'd tell me. You don't...you don't have to be all alone, Dick."

_Fuck_. Dick's eyes are burning. The mission and the team have put  _feeling_ on the backburner for him and Tim has no idea what kind of bottle he's opening. He needs to- needs to  _breathe._ He needs Bruce's hands on his shoulders but he might never have that again. He needs Batman, for the first time in years, to help him hold the world together, but Tim's wrong. He  _does_ have to be all alone with this, even if it kills him.

_And the last Grayson flies solo again. It's what he does._

Tim's hesitant, awkward hand touches his arm. "I-I'm here. We're all...here."

"You won't want to be," Dick whispers fiercely. Tim raises an eyebrow.

"Huh?"

Dick shakes his head, pulls him tight to his side, ignoring the involuntary, uncomfortable squeak he makes, and breathes in stuttered breaths until he feels like he can close the bottle again. Tim's cold and awkward and his elbow is digging into Dick's hip, but he stays.

He stays until Dick's ready to go home and start holding down the nest.


	6. wally west

When Dick thinks back to the night his parents died, everything is sharp. Unsettlingly so. The colors of costumes, tent flaps,  _blood_ are oversaturated and garish in his memory. The cracking of bones is deafening and forever cemented in his eardrums. He can remember it all in high definition.

But right now, everything is muffled.

His brain has comprehended what Barry's said, his eyes see Artemis falling to her knees and the empty space where Wally should be. But something's gone numb. His eyes sort of blur over- not with tears, or the snow, but some sort of haze he can't identify. His ears feel stuffed with cotton. His head is  _literally leaving his physical body_ and he can't seem to bring it back.

"N'w...ing...Ni'ng...Nightwing. Nightwing." There's a low voice in his ear, repeating his name. He can't turn his head towards it. "Nightwing. We need to go." A rough, webbed hand takes his own and tugs on it. Dick is dragged along lifelessly, half-aware that he's started trembling.

Strange. He wasn't cold until now.

His feet are planted on metal, his arms crossed against his chest while he shivers. He's freezing. There's no snow anymore, but he's  _so cold_ while he waits to wake up from this foggy fever dream. And he's looking around, because…because something's  _missing_ and he has a vague idea that he knows what it is. There's a hole in him. Maybe that's why he's so cold, maybe that's why it feels like when his parents died, or when Jason died-

Oh  _fuck._

" _Wally,"_ Dick breathes, half hoping that he's just...imagining things. Overreacting. Maybe Flash just said...just said Wally got hurt and he's being brought to the Watchtower and Dick's just freaking out or maybe Wally's just behind him and he'll hear him laughing at him for being stupid any second now-

"Nightwing, I am so sorry." Kaldur's voice isn't the rich, deep one he knows. It's the gruff police officer putting a blanket over his slim shoulders, it's Batman on the phone with tears in his voice.  _I am so sorry. So sorry for…_

_your loss._

Dick cries out like he's been struck.

"N... _no._ No,  _no_ , nonono _nonono_ -" He can't breathe.

"Dick." Tim sounds close to tears. "Shh, c'mon."

" _No,"_ he whispers desperately up to the stars, eyes flitting around for any sign of a listener. "Not again, not him,  _please-"_

The faces around him are pitying. It's over.

He will never see Wally West again.

Circus blood screams for him to run and jump and fly and  _move_ , but when he steps up to the edge ready to  _hurl himself the fuck off_ , hard Kryptonian hands are pulling his wrists back.

" _Let me go,"_ he sobs. "Let me  _go_ -"

"You'll  _die_ , Dick!"

"I don't  _care!"_ His shaking legs have him collapsing when they give out, Conner's grip the only thing holding him upright. He shrieks for Wally instead, all hysterics and panic until his throat feels raw and his heart is still clawing for what it's lost and his brain just  _aches_ -

_Fuckfuck why why'd you leave you promised you promised me you'd stay you'd be here forever you'd never ever leave me we'd be best friends forever and-_

_and you never said goodbye._

Dick's feet hit sand and he's running at top speed before the ship even lands. No one calls out for him.

They were so, so  _little_  when they met, he and Wally. They used to sit in one chair together while they drank juice boxes and watched cartoons, used to fall asleep in the Batmobile on the way home from missions ( _playdates_ ), Dick still in a booster seat and flopping over against Wally's head. They were  _kids_ and they  _fought crime_  and it's so messed up Dick wants to puke. Wally  _left_ and he still wasn't safe. No one's safe. Not if... _not if Dick loves them._

He climbs the rubble of the mountain as far up as he can before he falls with a nasty scrape on his ankle and dust in his throat. It's way too much for him to handle right now, the place that sheltered and held him during his hardest year destroyed around him. For the first time, he cries over it, over having his comfort and safety and happy memories ripped away from him, over being left alone with nowhere to run when he's afraid of himself, over losing his home, his savior, his everything-

_He's not crying about the mountain._

The one constant in his life has been green eyes softening for him and open arms every time he feels just like this, every time he's broken and sick and alone. The sheer thought of being with anyone other than his best friend after a life-shattering event is unfathomable. It was always Wally. Every time, no matter what, it was Wally, and Dick is pretty sure the only person who could comfort him about Wally's death is  _Wally_. His entire being feels empty and horrible, like he's in withdrawal, like he doesn't know how to survive without his best friend anymore. It's too much. It's- it's the final wave hitting, the snap of the last thread he was holding onto. He's falling. Drowning. He just-  _can't fucking do this anymore._

"I'm sorry."

The voice carries to Dick's ears even though his face is buried in the debris. No growl. The cowl's off. He wants to be relieved Bruce is alive and  _here_ , but he can't be. He's...god, he's  _scared._

"Dick-" A hand touches his shoulder and he tenses away.

"D-don't. Don't touch me."

"Why not?"

He swallows, somehow feeling cold and distant even as his heart bleeds. "I don't want you to die."

" _Dick-"_

"Everyone I love  _dies_." He can't breathe again. Bruce is shushing him but he doesn't  _want_ to be shushed and reassured. He doesn't want to be taken into anyone's arms and coaxed to love again. It  _hurts too damn much and he doesn't want to fucking hurt anymore goddammit goddammit goddammit-_

" _Hi, I'm Wally! ...oops! Oh no, Barry's gonna kill me- the Flash! The Flash is gonna kill me- I mean, I'm Kid Flash, hi!"_

" _It's not just a fist bump. It's a best bro fist bump. It means we're best bros."_

" _Wow, I mean- are you sure? You really trust me that much? I super duper pinkie swear with gummy worms on top I'll never tell anyone! Not ever!"_

" _No way, dude, I couldn't just let those jerks hurt my favorite person."_

" _Haha, Kid Flash and Robin win again!"_

" _Do you need to talk, or anything…?"_

" _I'll always care. You're my best bro."_

" _If you're going, I'm going."_

" _Hey, you're- you're gonna be okay, I promise, everything's gonna be okay."_

" _I just want to help you. It hurts me to see you like this."_

" _I love you. I'm not abandoning you. Please, please believe me. I love you so much."_

" _Breathe with me. In and out."_

" _I...I love you. More than anything in the world."_

" _Seriously? You want her to do this?"_

" _She better come back in one piece or so help me, Dick Grayson."_

" _I don't even know you anymore."_

" _Do you even hear yourself?! What if even one of you had been left behind? Huh? Why take that risk? Why go to such extremes?!"_

" _Look, I- I'm furious at you. But you're still my best friend. I'm still here for you."_

Someone's cradling him in strong arms, and he can only tell it's Bruce by the heavy leather cape that's wrapped around him. Part of him wants to go back to wherever his mind went, listen to Wally's voice on repeat until the end of time. The other part needs to push Bruce away from him and run before he poisons someone else, marks someone else for death.

He's too weak to do either of those things.

"I'm sorry." It's all he can do. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry…

"Just please come back now, alright?"


	7. and the rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaa finally finally!! I know this took an ungodly amount of time so I won’t make any excuses. Just. Thank you for reading and waiting. This chapter is unfortunately short but that’s what it had to be in order to actually get posted before the year 2072. Anyway. uhhhh mind the triggers? And enjoy.

Dick made sure his apartment had a bathtub when he moved in. It’s less painful to soak wounds than it is to spray them, and vigilante-style injuries make it difficult to shower sometimes.

Those are all reasons he would give out loud, and they’re true. But there’s always been something else, since he was thirteen or fourteen, about knowing all he would have to do is hold his head under the water for a little bit. That escape is right under his chin.

That, and it’s awkward to wash blood off his thighs in the sink.

He’s been in the bath for almost two hours tonight. The water is red and cold, his skin wrinkled. He’s tried to get out five or six times, but he can’t seem to bring himself to leave his little sphere of safety. He can’t seem to bring himself to push his nose down into the water, either. It’s a sort of limbo. He can’t remember which thug of the night bruised his ribs. He can’t remember if the scratches on his arms are his doing or someone else’s. He definitely doesn’t remember messing his thighs up so bad, but there they are, likely the main source of all the blood he’s soaking in. It’s disgusting. Alfred would have drained the tub and refilled it by now if he couldn’t coax Dick out of it. He should drain the tub. No one’s coming to drain it for him. It’s just...just... _five more minutes…_

He sits in the dirty water and shivers, wonders what his family is doing. Bruce is almost definitely asleep now, patrol long over, but Dick bitterly entertains the image of him moping in Dick’s old bedroom, bemoaning the loss of a son who didn’t put his loved ones in danger, and cursing the wretched, heartless man that took his place. It’s more comforting than the thought that he’s too disappointed to even think about Dick, too scared of what he’s become to be angry. Dick’s stopped coming around the manor hoping to be yelled at instead of stared at with faraway sadness. It won’t happen.

Tim would be in the room across the hall. In his mental image, Dick can only picture him with that wide-eyed, _betrayed_ look, the one he had on his face when he found out about the mission. He had it every time Dick saw him for that first week after... _after_ , while he stayed at the manor. Tim is smart. It’s no coincidence how little he’s seen him in the last few months.

His baby brother hates him.

Tim could be with the team right now, too. They could all be on a mission, maybe, with Aqualad leading, and Artemis- _Tigress_ by his side. And _Bart…_

_in Wally’s costume…_

Dick tips his head back into the bath, letting water flow into his ears.

The team. They’d be surviving. Doing missions. Moving forward. Everything Dick’s not doing.

_Okay. Time’s up. Do it or get out._

_But if you did it, Wally would be so disappointed in you._

Dick climbs out of the tub, pulls the drain before he can fall back in, and sits naked on the tile floor, utterly exhausted.

“‘M sorry, Wally,” he mumbles, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to his knee. “Can’t do it much longer. ‘M really sorry.”

Wally doesn’t answer. Just like he hasn’t for months, every time Dick gets lonely enough to talk to him. _Lonely_ is an understatement, really. He’s been microwaving his pillowcase just to have something warm to hold while he sleeps. He needs someone _here_ tonight. Physically. He’s going to do something that would disappoint Wally if he’s all by himself.

But there’s no one.

Barbara _screamed_ at him, beat her fist against his chest with tears streaming down her face, begging him to _not run away for once in your goddamn life_. The team sat close in folded chairs in the graveyard, looking at him like he wasn’t supposed to be there. Bruce listened to him say _I want to be alone_ \- and Dick has never, ever wanted to be alone - and _nodded_ , looked _relieved_. He has _no one_ , and that feeling is so crushing and all-encompassing that he can’t even _move_ for at least twenty minutes, beyond shaking in place like he’s back in the Arctic. He can almost hear Haly tearfully insisting to the police officers, _he can’t go, he has nowhere to go, he has no one. You can’t take him away. He has no one else left._

It’s different this time, though. He did it himself. Burned the whole circus tent around him instead of being ripped from it.

_And when something starts a fire, you put it out._

He dreams in abstracts that night, everything meshing together in a horror movie of mismatched memories - Jason falling from a cut trapeze, Wally and the crowbar, Barbara faking her death and the whole team going to Rimbor, Bruce vanishing to dust in the Arctic, his parents shot down by the lasers from their failsafe mission - while he watches, screaming his throat raw and crying his eyes dry. They reach for him and he reaches back, hand trembling and coming up much, much too short as he’s forced to watch them play Musical Deaths over and over, each scene giving him a new horrific combination.

He wakes up drenched in sweat, and pulls out a pen and paper.

_To whom it may concern,_


	8. and one comes back

_"You've reached Wally West! Leave your questions, comments, and cash donations after the beep. I'll catch you later, gorgeous."_   


Dick nearly stabs himself before the message is over, the pure _longing_ too much to take. He hasn’t heard that voice, the voice that kept him alive over the phone so many times, in six months, and even an old recording through poor-quality tiny speakers makes him so, so _homesick_.

 

He doesn’t stab himself. Wally needs to know why first, and Dick needs to explain. He needs to get it all off his chest if he wants to go peacefully, and even after everything, he thinks he deserves that much.

 

_Maybemaybe he’s a little scared to do this alone too._

 

“Hey, Walls."

 

He fiddles with the knife, watching how it reflects the dull glow of the single hanging light bulb that’s on in his apartment. He waits a few seconds, just in case, then closes his eyes and speaks again when the silence starts to break him.

  
"Just thought I should call. I wanted...to hear your voice. And I'm closing my eyes, and it's like you're right here and I'm talking to you. I just need to talk, okay? You...always listen."

 

Listen _ed,_ and Dick lets out a little sob. He _can’t_ , even after six months, say  _was_ or _did_ or _lived_ or _died_ -

 

_Died_ , and Dick has to choke back a _hurricane_.

 

"Everyone's moving on, dude. I think. I haven't...seen anyone since...your funeral.” _Ow ow ow_ it _hurts._ “You understand that I needed to leave everything, right? It hurt too much. I wanted to cry every time you weren't there. And there were just too many times."   
_Would have thrown myself in front of a gun and they wouldn’t have liked that, Bruce wouldn’t have liked that,_ you  _wouldn’t have liked that_.

 

"I've wanted to visit them. Call someone, at least. I think...well. I'm not doing good, Walls." He laughs the ugliest, least laugh-like sound he’s ever made. It’s hilarious, because how _could_ he be doing good? Wally would know that. But it’s also _not_ funny because he _needs_ Wally to know how _hard_ he tried. How long he put this off, how much energy it took to live these past six months. How he did it for _him_ , in some stupid attempt to honor him. How Wally deserves statues and holidays and buildings and foundations carrying his name, but all Dick can give him is his life and he tried _so hard_ to do it.

 

He doesn’t know how to make an answering machine understand all that.

 

“Probably the worst I've ever been, actually. I wanted to fight for you, because you wasted half your life helping me fight, but…” But he’s so tired. He’s _so tired._ “ _God._ It's so much. Y'know? I was already...already so sick and then B kicked me out...and Jason...happened. And he died. Fuck, Jason's dead. He's dead. My parents are dead. And you're dead.”

 

The only one who isn’t dead is _him._ Correlation to causation, and all that. He’s _venom._ Poison. Kills everything he touches. And everyone knows it.

 

“The team...blames me. They say they don't, but they look at me and I can see it."  


He could see it in Superboy’s tense shoulders, in Zatanna’s averted gaze and in Bart’s hung head. Artemis...radiated rage like a furnace, like her sorrow was the coal. It burned just as badly. A deserved burn. How he imagines it might have felt if, when he was twelve, he went the cigarette route instead of the razor blade route.

 

"I mean, it's my fault. There's no use lying. 'S why I really had to leave, I guess. Otherwise, maybe I would be okay. But I killed you. Wally, I killed you." Out of habit, from a voice that says _Wally hates when you cry,_ he drops his face to his hand and chokes against his palm, taking in gasps of air through his nose in between cries he’s _really trying_ to stifle.

 

"S-sorry. I'm sorry. I wasn't gonna cry. I just...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I fucked everything up. It should have been me."

 

_It will be me. Soon. Really soon, I promise. I’m coming to see you._   


Composure regained, he keeps talking. He’s hardly talked to anyone the past few months, and now he’s finding it hard to stop.

  
"Bruce and I were better, before he left. It...it was almost like it used to be. But he's so disappointed in me now. He's barely talked to me since he got back. Tim's avoiding me. Babs is mad at me for quitting. None of the team...no one's called or visited. I just...well.” His voice grows just a bit hysterical as his breath runs out. “I was fucking stupid, I thought someone would stay. Anyone. But that's not how my life works, we both know that.” He breathes. Breathes again. “I'm really sick of people leaving, Walls. It hurts so much. Too much.”

 

It shouldn’t bother him, really; he’s never known _stable_ or _steady._ Always a circus, always people coming and going, always moving from place to place. And yet, that’s _why_ it bothers him at the same time, because without _someone_ to ground him he’s going to fall.

 

Falling. He thought about falling. Symbolism, and whatnot. He’s never had as much appreciation for symbolism as Jason did, and even he could see it there. But he knows what bodies look like when they hit the ground, what happens to the bones and the _blood_. It wouldn’t be fair to Bruce and Alfred and Tim.

 

And Wally. None of this is fair to Wally. But it doesn’t feel right to do it without telling him first, after years of _hey yeah i think i’m gonna do it tonight_ and then _not_ doing it and then promising he would tell him the next time, too. It was their dumb, sad little routine. Dick can’t imagine how tired Wally must have gotten of it. He certainly got tired of it.

 

Just one more time.

  
"I keep putting it off but...I can't...do this anymore. I couldn't do this five years ago. I won't be able to do it six months from now. I have a week taken off work and a stack of notes for everyone and a knife. I'm ready, really. I just didn't wanna be alone when I did it."   


He thought of everything, he’s pretty sure. He put a lot of his stuff into boxes, canceled his mail. Cleaned out his kitchen. Hid his Nightwing things and left coded instructions to Bruce to find them. Wrote his notes, some just brief coded directions to the real notes, which were with his suit and weapons. Wrote a half-assed will, leaving everything to Tim and asking to be buried with his parents and Jason. Took time off work. Laid a towel down so the blood wouldn’t stain the carpet.

 

It’s amazing how much energy he suddenly had when he knew he only had to get through a few more days.

 

And how terrified he feels now that the moment’s here.

 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying for a minute or two, just kind of marveling at the fact that this is really it and he _doesn’t know what happens next_.

 

All he knows is that he wants to go home.

 

“I'm scared, y'know? I've only gotten this far once or twice. I always backed out. I'm a coward. I'm scared to die. I'm scared to live. But I gotta choose one, and if there's even half a chance that you and Jay and Mom and Dad are waiting for me somewhere I think it's worth it. I can stop bothering everyone here, at least. And if none of that, then...I-I deserve it. For what I did to Kaldur. And the team. And Artemis's family. And Barry, and Bart. Artemis. You."  
  
He chokes back a whimper as he picks up the knife, which feels right in his hand but also looks a lot sharper than it did a minute ago.

 

_I’m coming home, I’m coming, wait for me..._

 

"It'll...be just like falling asleep. Right?"

 

_Does it hurt?_

 

_Did it hurt when you…?_

  
"I dunno whether to go for my wrists or my heart." His voice shakes almost as bad as his hand. This is it, _this is it, this is it, just do it, go, go, GO-_

  
"I don't know what would hurt the least. But...I mean, the pain will all be over after. So that doesn't matter. I don't want to be...too scary-looking either. Even if no one...c-cares enough for a funeral they'll probably have Bruce come identify my body-" he chokes - "This is stupid. I'm stalling. I just need...need..."   


_I’m coming home, Mama, Daddy, Jay..._   
  
"I need you, Wally.”

 

He clicks the button.

 

Too many things happen at once.

 

There’s a _crack_ and then a _bang_ , and then there’s a light so bright he thinks he did it unconsciously and he’s in heaven, and then there’s yellow and movement and the knife is three- two- one inch from his heart and then it’s _not,_ there’s something grabbing it and _him_ and there’s _noise_ and he’s _sobbing_ because everything is too _much-_

 

And Wally.

 

Wally’s here to take him to wherever he goes now.

 

Except Wally looks like a mess, all windswept and messy hair and bug-eyes, and he’s gasping for air like he’s just stopped running.

 

“Dick- Dick Dick _Dick_ oh my _god_ oh my god _oh my god_ what the _fuck are you_ _doing-_ “

 

Dick just blinks at him.

 

“Oh _god_ you think I’m- we’re- we’re not- _fuck,_ just- later, okay? Just- _Dick_ ,” Wally nearly _sobs_ and then he’s grabbing Dick’s head by his hair and it _hurts_ and Wally’s yanking him to his chest and just _holding_ him like _too tight_ isn’t a concept he’s familiar with, and then Dick nearly throws up because he’s crying so hard his whole body is _convulsing._ He vaguely registers Wally kissing the top of his head over and over and murmuring “thank you, _thank you,_ oh god, I’m _so sorry,_ ” like _he’s_ the one who saved _Wally’s_ life or really, maybe they’re both just dead.

 

He thinks he doesn’t really care if he’s dead or not because either way he’s _home_.

 

_“...miss me, or something?”_

 

_“Shut up.”_

 

_“Still here...back to sleep.”_

 

_“Love you-“_

 

_“...said it enough…”_

 

_“I love you…”_

 

Dick wakes up stiff. Stiff and sore. The next thing he recognizes is an arm around him, holding him tight in a way that’s both familiar and _different._

 

He’s sort of afraid to open his eyes, because the dream will be over, and his bed will be cold, and he’ll have to remember that this _happywarmsafe_ feeling that he can’t quite put his finger on isn’t here anymore. But a noise startles him, and then he’s looking at his apartment from the floor, from Wally’s arms that are still there even though he’s most definitely awake and alive.

 

That’s sort of too much to deal with right now. He turns to the source of the noise. Artemis. Making pancakes in his kitchen. He stares at her, dumbfounded, until she beckons him over and he _very reluctantly_ untangles himself from Wally to go to her.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers when he’s within arms' reach, pulling him into a hug. “Missed you.”

 

Dick doesn’t know what to say.

 

Artemis doesn’t seem to mind. She pulls away, and grabs a small stack of papers from the counter behind her, thrusting them into his hands. He thumbs through them. Therapists in Bludhaven. Family therapists in Gotham. Mental health hospitalization programs. List of common antidepressants. Alternative treatments for depression and anxiety. Alternative coping skills to self-harm.

 

He gets to the end of the stack and looks at her, a little numb. She reaches up to rest her hand against his cheek.

 

“We’re gonna get you better, Boy Wonder.”

 

Dick looks back at Wally, still awkwardly reaching out for both of them, and nods.

 

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand it's done! thank god. It's been nine months. Most writers can write 11k words in like. One month. So yea lol I'm sorry I'm incompetent but hey! it's done. 
> 
> The lil coda there at the end may seem to not quite fit, but it was important to me to show that this story ends with the beginning of recovery. I hope you felt sad and happy and anxious and all those good angst feelings, and I really hope you enjoyed.
> 
> I love this series a whole lot, and I don't really have any big stories planned for it right now but I'd love to write some little pieces for it and I think I might take some requests! My tumblr is haunt-the-stars and I'd love it if you'd come talk to me about this story or request others (that can include other POVs of parts of Coping series stories, fill-in-the-blanks scenes, or other stuff). I might not get to them right away, but I will eventually.
> 
> So, yeah. Thanks so much for reading. This story is my baby.


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